Tête à tête with God
by mymuseandi
Summary: But whenever the Winchesters occasionally appear to disrupt his life, he is never sure what God is trying to say, and how he should reply, like at this moment.


**A/N:** It's been a long while since I posted something here, huh? I miss FF! *hugz website*

Anyway, this is written for a challenge in **hoodie_time** in LJ, who is being a little unreasonable yesterday. The prompt is too long to be written - it's actually a chunk of scene that **purple_carpets** wrote but didn't finish. So it's included in the story, bolded for convenience. Thanks also to **primrose_1** and **calamitycrow** for helping out a little on the church parts.

Unbeta-ed, so let me know if you spot any mistakes!

***SnSnSnSnSn***

Sometimes, when he finds his daily routine interrupted by natural and/or supernatural elements, he thinks God is communicating with him, reminding him that He will always be there to help, making certain he remembers His love. But whenever the Winchesters occasionally appear to disrupt his life, he is never sure what God is trying to say, and how he should reply, like at this moment.

**Jim Murphy is a man of God. He likes to think of himself as peace loving, forgiving. Bobby Singer once called him a 'damn idgit naive choir boy', but the simple fact of the matter is, Jim doesn't like to hurt his brothers and sisters by judging too harshly. Still, John Winchester has turned trying the pastor's patience into an art form and sometimes, in the dead of night, he has to stop himself from praying for painful accidents to happen to the man.**

**Not like they don't happen on their own, mind you. John has almost made a habit of showing up, unannounced, in the middle of a sermon, politely demanding shelter for himself and his boys while he lets Johnny and Jose nurse his newest collection of bruises, larcerations and broken bones with their own unique brand of liquid comfort.**

**Entirely unaware of what it does to his boys. Or himself for that matter.**

**Jim knows for a fact that Dean didn't mean anything by his comment about wanting to go to Kentucky Fried Chicken, so they could have some "real holiday food, 'cause the chicken soup you made us yesterday was kinda cold, y'know?". He is fairly certain in fact that it's not the eight year old's fault he considers greasy junk food to be the epitome of culinary achievement," worthy of an entire Thanksgiving Dinner, but John sees disrespect before he sees anything else and he is quick to say things that no child that age should ever have to hear, let alone be uttered in a place of worship, and now there are two terrified little boys that have locked themselves in the barn, hungry and miserable and probably crying just as bitterly as their father in his corner of the kitchen.**

***SnSnSnSnSn***

_Maybe God is asking him to show more compassion, especially to children like Sam and Dean_.

Jim looks through the window, but he can't see anything through the murky glass and the lights inside are not switched on, so he knocks on the barn door. He's holding the key in his hand, but he's hoping not to have to force the door open. The boys have been left there for almost twenty minutes while Jim finds the key and puts on his coat, and with the weather getting steadily colder, the conditions in the barn definitely aren't favorable for a longer stay.

"Dean, it's Pastor Jim. Can you open the door for me, son?"

Silence from the other side of the door. He waits for a minute.

"Sam, Dean, can you hear me? Open the door for me, please."

He can hear scuffling, murmuring, and just as he raises his hand to knock again, there's the sound of a lock being turned. The door opens a sliver, and Jim wastes no time in gently but firmly pushing the door open. He can't see anything in the darkness, but he turns on the flashlight that he's holding, and shines down, going down on one knee at the same time.

Sam stands in front of him, big round eyes with tear-streaked cheeks and downturned mouth. He's sniffling a little, barefoot, shivering in spite of the thick blanket wrapped around him and his pajamas, and no older brother by his side.

Jim grabs him in a hug, releasing only to make sure there's nothing wrong with him. He wipes on those chubby cheeks. "Where's Dean, Sam?"

Sam points to his left, and he swings his flashlight accordingly.

Dean is sitting on the floor, an arm's length away by the wall, knees tucked close to his chest and head buried in the arms folded on said knees. He's not covered in a blanket like his brother, so there's no missing the trembling body, even though no sound is coming from him.

Jim slide-crawls to his side with Sam in tow, but Dean doesn't even look up. He rests a hand on the boy's head, meant as reassurance, but Dean flinches away, still not raising his head.

"Dean, Sam, it's cold out here. Shall we go back to the church?"

Dean shakes his head almost violently. Sam only lays his head down on his shoulders, sniffles dying down.

"It's really cold here, Dean. You wouldn't want to get sick, do you?"

No response this time. The boys have apparently turn mute together by choice. He tries another line of reasoning.

"I'm sure both of you must be hungry now. I know you wanted Kentucky, but since it's too late tonight we can go tomorrow? We can get them all in drumsticks, your favorite."

Again Dean shakes his head, and Sam keeps silent. It seems like even overpriced, unhealthy chicken meat cannot appease the situation. But he knows this isn't really about that.

"Sam is getting colder Dean. He's going to get sick soon if he stays here much longer."

Sam, bless his little heart, chooses the moment to pipe in. "Can we go back to the church now, Dean? You can say sorry to Daddy and Pastor Jim and I can say sorry too and Daddy won't be angry and we don't have to hide from him no more."

Jim's own heart lurches a little at the words, but if it gets the boys away from the barn and to the warmth of the house of God then he's all for it. Deal with the present, and hopefully there'll be time later to sit down for a talk with Dean. "I don't need any apologies, boys, but you'll make an old man happy if both of you return."

Dean looks up, and in the semi-darkness Jim sees red-rimmed eyes with red cheeks, a red nose, but no tears in sight. He also sees a faint red bruise at the side of his lip. John's elbow had caught him right there, when he had turn around to reach for the beer bottle just as Dean had tried to pull on his sleeve. There was no blood, thankfully, but it was more than enough for Dean to grab Sam and run to the barn, while John staggered back in shock.

They stare at each other for a moment or two, and Dean finally acquiesces with a slow nod.

***SnSnSnSnSn***

_Maybe God is asking him to show fairness and understanding in dealing with people like John Winchester_.

Five minutes later find Jim running to the back door with Sam in his arms, Dean by his side. John is still stuck in position, quiet by now, beer bottles vanished from view. There's tension in the air as he watches his sons pass through the kitchen to their makeshift bedroom, neither parties making eye contact. The classroom turned bedroom has been the Winchesters' port everytime they visit, and this time is no exception. There, Jim makes short work of drying both of them off. Clothes are changed, and the pastor applies cream to the bruise, and it is during this task that Dean speaks for the first time, since the accidental elbowing occurred, just after his father told him he "might as well stay in the fucking barn to match your fucking manners, and if I find either you or Sam in this goddamned place in the next ten minutes, so help me God, I will tan the hide off from both of you, YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

"I'm sorry, Pastor Jim."

"I'm sorry too, Pastor Jim." Sam parrots the sentiment although it's clear he isn't sure what he's apologizing for.

Jim smiles, plants a kiss each on the boys' damp hair. "I told you, nothing to be sorry for." And really, there isn't.

He ushers them down to the warmth of the social hall, and makes them sit by the heater while he grabs some dinner for them. As he enters the kitchen, John's head snaps up, and Jim can easily see the question in the air.

"They're in the hall, getting warmed up."

There's a beat of silence, John gearing up to try to explain himself. "It's not about the food."

Jim shakes his head, taking the statement for the confession as it is. "I know that. You know that. Do the boys know that?"

"I didn't mean to hurt him."

There's a hint of pleading in his voice, seeking absolution for what he has done. Jim gathers as much patience as possible, because while it _is _unintentional, the sorry fact is that it did happen, and the rippling effect can go a long way. "Maybe you should tell him that instead of sitting at the table feeling sorry for yourself."

John just grunts. Jim doesn't reply this time, preferring to busy himself with the food. No one in the building has had dinner yet, and it's only now that he's feeling the lure of hunger. He places a casserole and some leftover chilli in front of the oldest Winchester, who stares at them as though they're something he's never seen before. He scoops some for the boys, and makes some hot chocolate, and carries the tray out, only to find Sam asleep on the couch and Dean missing.

Placing the tray on the table, he pulls the couch throw over the prone form, and on a hunch, goes to the front of the church.

There, he finds Dean sitting in the front pew of the nave, hands in his pockets, deep in thought. He guesses that the young one is probably still shaken up, and moves to go to him, but a hand on his shoulder gives him pause. John's beside him, staring at his firstborn, naked guilt and grief on his face, and then he turns to Jim. "I'm gonna..." and gestures to the sitting figure. Jim tilts his head, giving his approval, and hears John takes a deep breath before moving to sit beside his son. He stands where he is, watches them.

He sees Dean jerk in surprise, colour leeching out of his face at the sight of his father. He sees John gliding a hand along his arm, much like calming a panicked horse, and Dean visibly relaxes at the touch. He sees the shorter Winchester stammering out an apology to the taller one, and the taller one skimming over the bruise with his thumb, smiling a smile full of pain and regret. He sees the latter pulling the former tight by his side, the younger one submitting without a fuss, a sign of reprieve. That boy forgives readily, a trait he probably gets from his mother, and something that John should try to emulate.

With that minor action, he sees the son soothe the father, allaying his worries and recriminations and showing love and empathy, and the father returning the favor through comfort and safety of his embrace, the touch saying a lot more than he can express in words.

Watching them, Jim thinks he finally gets what God is trying to tell him, and with a smile, leaves them there to enjoy their brief flash of peace and privacy.

***SnSnSnSnSn***

I hope you find Pastor Jim believable and likeable enough. Thanks for reading! Leave me some reviews, pretty please? *Sam's puppy eyes*


End file.
